


Set that Crown on the Ground

by lazarusthefirst



Series: Trope bingo [10]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dragon Slayers, F/F, Fingering, Fluff, Oral, Outdoor Sex, Threesome - F/F/F, and their dragon protector girlfriend, dragon lore, dragon-fighting girlfriends, i guess, medieval fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-26
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2018-03-19 16:28:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3616554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazarusthefirst/pseuds/lazarusthefirst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘Have you ever wondered if the dragons have their own name for someone like you?’<br/>‘Oh, I hope so. Otherwise I’ve been wasting my time.’</p>
            </blockquote>





	Set that Crown on the Ground

**Author's Note:**

> This was actually the first fic in this series but two certain someones complained that there wasn't enough sex so 5 months later here we are, now complete with full threesome. 
> 
> Stole the title from Sleigh Bells, because they're literally all I listen to when I write Allison/Lydia, and because it fits.

For every scar Lydia Martin has on her body, she has the claw that marked her displayed on her bedroom wall.

(That’s not including the small surgical line on her abdomen from where she’d had her appendix removed, but the town surgeon often crossed to the other side of the street when he saw her coming, so Lydia figured that was good enough). 

There was a total of nineteen curved claws and six sharp teeth mounted around her room, varying in size from the size of her palm, to the length of her arm. Lydia would count them every morning, as she stretched out her body before beginning the day. She recalled each incident, and could match each offender to its mark on her skin, from the small white nick on her shoulder, to the thick, ropey scar on her thigh that sometimes still pained her. It had been one of her first. Nothing had ever gotten that close again. 

Beacon Hills had a dragon problem. This wasn’t news, but it was starting to become old news as dragon hides and assorted memorabilia began to find their way into shops and stalls and even medicine. Moreover, Lydia now found herself unable to turn around in the square without spotting some new eager hunter, fresh-faced and clutching a halberd or poleaxe or something else totally unsuitable for even approaching a dragon. Not a grass stain or singed eyebrow in sight. Lydia knew that the mark of a good dragon slayer wasn’t a map of scars and burns across every square inch of skin, but it did mean that you’d gone up against a dragon and lived. Bites and scratches were unavoidable, but burns were part of the job. Just stepping into a dragon’s lair meant sore feet for days afterwards. 

But dragon hunting was really starting to pay well. Even a single claw could buy meat for a few days if it was the right size. And when the alternative was working at the forge, or in the fields, or travelling for days to bring back wood and coal? Sometimes the call of adventure was lure enough for youths not yet old enough to have families, but too young to be content with following their fathers through the fields, gathering what was first overlooked.

Lydia pursed her lips as she browsed her closet. She didn’t have a whole lot in the way of court fashion, preferring clothes that wouldn’t snag on a branch and potentially lead to her being eaten. That said, what she did have was impeccably tailored to her lifestyle. Mainly because the tailor owed Lydia his life. She only had to remind him every third week or so. 

But today was a special occasion. She’d been summoned before the queen, and unfortunately the court didn’t care to see what a real dragon killer looked like. She didn’t know about Queen Hale, but she knew that the courtiers and the politicians didn’t want leather bracers and clothes made out of dragon hide, the best fireproof protection to be found. They wanted to see her bedecked in necklaces of dragon teeth and stalking on high-heeled boots that could double as blades, smelling of roses and looking exactly like the kind of woman they wanted to terrify them into bed. 

Lydia couldn’t bring herself to go that far. She had her pride, and she didn’t need to prove how good she was; the summons was enough. Unfortunately, she had a feeling she knew what it was about. 

Despite the inexperience of all these new would-be dragon slayers, the dragon population was undoubtedly dwindling. Lydia was good - she was _very_ good - but taking down a fifty foot Goldenclaw didn’t mean shit if three other rich brats hauled a cannon up the mountain and collapsed half of it on top of six twenty foot Needlers. Six dragons, six skulls, and a lot of meat to drag back and celebrate. Goldenclaws smouldered and burned from the inside out upon death, and were far too big and too tough to skin fast enough to save any of the meat. No one seemed to remember that an adult Goldenclaw could decimate an entire village if it chose to (and they often did). 

So Lydia would harvest the claws and the few spines she could hack offbefore the whole carcass burst into flames, and quietly log her triumph in the record at Hall of Dragons, indicating where the remains of the dragon could be found. Another claw to deposit into her booty box as proof, another three to sell, and one to join her wall of fame if it had marked her. A good day’s work, but the only ones who noticed were those who logged her kills and bought whatever she had to see.

But now, apparently, the queen was taking an interest. 

People did tend to avoid her in the street. Lydia didn’t walk; she stalked. And she rarely had time to chat. _I’d like to see any of those smooth-skinned pretenders command that kind of respect,_ she thought, irritated, as she watched a gaggle of them congregating outside one of the popular outfitters that had sprang up almost overnight. The influx of dragon hide meant you could practically buy socks made out of the stuff. She eyed the wares most days, just to make sure they were as poorly made as she assumed. 

‘Needler hide, I presume?’ She eyed the merchant, who’d suddenly come over all nervous. 

‘Only the best,’ the man replied. He glanced at one of the customers standing nearby. ‘My supplier, Sir Whittemore, brings me new hides every week.’

The man in question - boy, really - turned upon hearing his name. Smirking, and too handsome for his own good. Lydia steeled herself for idiocy and wasn’t disappointed. 

‘I’ve killed almost every Needler in Beacon Hills,’ he drawled, leaning carelessly against the stall and running his eyes up and down Lydia’s frame. Because of her summons, she was looking better than usual (which was saying something), but right now she was regretting it. She probably looked like the very eager pretenders she’d been cursing. 

‘Wow,’ she said, pretending to be impressed. ‘Nearly every Needler. Amazing.’

Whittemore was inflating like a balloon. ‘Yep. Once I’d taken care of the ones in White River, I came down here looking for something else to kill.’

‘Cleared out White River too, did you?’ White River had boasted roughly four dragons, last Lydia heard. 

‘Wasn’t hard,’ Whittmore said carelessly. _I’ll bet,_ thought Lydia. 

‘How about we get a drink next door,’ Whittemore suggested, angling his body towards her. ‘I could tell you all about them. You look like someone who’d be … into that kind of thing.’ Another full-body visual search. Lydia suppressed a glare. 

‘Lydia!’

Her shoulders relaxed. She smiled, turning and knowing that Stiles would be wearing his usual sweet grin and eager expression as he bounced up to her.

‘Stiles,’ she acknowledged, smiling just for him so that asshole wouldn’t see.

‘Sweet kill last week,’ he enthused. ‘Everyone down at the Guild is still talking about it. Can I borrow one of the claws? I know you always keep at least one. If I turned up with a Goldenclaw I think even Derek Hale would get interested and maybe stop ignoring me.’

Lydia pretended to think about it as she basked in the waves of incredulity from somewhere to her right. 

‘A _Goldenclaw_?’ Whittemore had found his voice. ‘Wait, so you’re - ?’

‘Yes, I am,’ she said calmly, turning on him. Then she looked at the merchant, who looked as though he’d been hoping they would forget about him. ‘Disappointing stock. I was expecting something more impressive than a Needler. The last time I bothered with one of those, I was twelve.’ 

They left the stunned Whittmore to stammer some more, Stiles happy enough to flounce off with her for effect, even though he didn’t know quite what had happened. 

‘So, Derek Hale.’

Stiles groaned. ‘Yes. Still.’

‘Even though …?’

‘Even though he’s an arrogant dick who probably wouldn’t piss on me if I was on fire? Yeah.’

Lydia rolled her eyes. ‘I was going to say, even though he’s the crown prince. Nice to know where your priorities are, Stiles.’

Stiles made little waving motions with his hands. ‘That’s all details,’ he said dismissively. ‘Haven’t you ever read a book? The prince _always_ comes down off his lofty perch and marries the peasant boy. Derek just needs to realise that.’ He frowned at her. ‘Uh, where are you going anyways? Don’t you have something very large to kill?’

‘I killed something very large yesterday,’ Lydia replied, shielding her eyes against the sun as she glared up at the palace, crouching on top of the hill, very like a dragon itself. Half of it was built from dragon bones. ‘I’m going up there today.’

Stiles followed her gaze, then doubled back a few more times to make sure she was serious. ‘What, really? You didn’t get arrested, did you?’

Lydia levelled a gaze at him. ‘If I’d been arrested, would I be going there voluntarily?’

Stiles smirked. ‘Well I wouldn’t want to be the one trying to put _you_ in chains.’

She nodded. ‘I’ve actually got an invitation.’ She dug the heavy cream paper out of her belt purse, and Stiles snatched at it.

‘Can you bring a plus one?’ he asked, scanning the invitation. ‘I only ever get to see the guards quarters when I bring up dinner for dad.’

Lydia grabbed it back. ‘No. This is about dragons.’

The light of understanding dawned on Stiles’s face. ‘Ah. Toothpick business. It all makes sense.’

‘Don’t call it that,’ Lydia replied, irritably. ‘Call _them_ toothpicks.’ She gestured at the swaggering band of young men who were posturing by the water fountain. ‘They’re the ones getting themselves killed. My job isn’t a joke, Stiles. I want proper rankings.’

‘I know,’ replied Stiles, stretching his arms and eyeing up one of the early morning food vendors. ‘Your third request got filed yesterday. But I still haven’t thought of a name for someone of your level. What do you call something that gets stuck in the throat of a dragon and refuses to go down no matter how many times it swallows?’

‘Please have better criteria than that _one time_ ,’ Lydia complained. ‘Or I might just let a Razor burn down your precious Guild next time.’

‘Empty threat,’ yawned Stiles. ‘We’re never there, anyways. I spend all my time at the Guild trying to establish rules for a declining industry that’s gaining more unlicensed employees faster than they’re being eaten, and dad basically lives at the palace anyways. Visiting dignitaries this week, from the south. I think the daughter is some hot-shot dragon slayer, so maybe you can finally make a friend, Lydia.’

‘If she can keep up,’ murmured Lydia, looking back up at the palace, a touch doubtful now. 

Stiles snorted. ‘You mean, if she’ll give you the time of day. Dressed like that, you look like - ’

Whatever Stiles thought Lydia looked like was cut off by the sudden presence of the pointy end of Lydia’s favourite dagger encroaching on Stiles’s nostril.

‘I look amazing,’ Lydia said, calmly. ‘I look beautiful and terrifying and competent. Repeat.’

‘You look amazing,’ croaked Stiles. ‘Beautiful. Scary. Good at things. Dragon’s worst nightmare.’

Lydia withdrew the blade as quickly as she’d whipped it out, and Stiles rubbed his nose gingerly, scowling unhappily.

‘The dragons don’t care what I look like,’ Lydia explained, trying not to look at him as fondly as she felt. ‘I’m going now,’ she added. ‘No more bullshit, Stiles. I’m not a dragon’s toothpick.’

‘You’re the thing that gets stuck in their throat, right,’ Stiles agreed, still rubbing his nose but looking at her appraisingly. ‘Have you ever wondered if the dragons have their own name for someone like you?’

‘Oh, I hope so. Otherwise I’ve been wasting my time.’

 

Lydia didn’t know if the guards recognised her on sight, or if they’d been instructed to let her in. She’d certainly put enough of them to shame during the days when dragons still attacked the city on a regular basis. And she’d only been sixteen then, too. There were more than a few sour glances in her direction, and she felt a warm confidence beginning to grow inside her as she made her way through the lower levels of the palace, searching for a servant or maid to collar for directions.

A few guards did stop her; Lydia eyed the foreign crest on their breastplates with distaste as she had to repeatedly fish out her invitation and identification. She’d never heard of a family with a silver arrow over a howling wolf silhouette. How dramatic. They must be very far south.

The throne room was stupidly large, but Queen Hale immediately looked to Lydia like the kind of woman who could probably take on a dragon or two herself. Lydia waited patiently as she was announced, taking in the assembled faces she didn’t care for, and eyeing up a small retinue of unfamiliar pale faces to the left of the throne. One tall, slender figure in particular caught her eye - and more specifically, the magnificent longbow made out of black yew strapped to his back. He was wearing all black and his face was silhouetted by a dark cowl, and - Lydia squinted - he might not even be a he.

Before she could wonder whether this was the daughter Stiles had mentioned, she was being summoned forward. 

It was as she’d thought. Queen Talia fixed her with a stern eye, raised one immaculate eyebrow, and said, ‘Not what I expected.’

Lydia ground her teeth. The Guild needs funding, she reminded herself. She refused to be called a Toothpick anymore. The politicians provided patronage for Stiles and his friends, not the queen. Rumour had it that she refused to favour any of her three children’s chosen fields.

‘I’m off-duty,’ Lydia replied smoothly. ‘Your majesty.’

‘But you are not often,’ the queen stated. Her body barely moved as she spoke. She was a picture of stately elegance wrapped around a core of steel. Lydia could appreciate that, so she decided not to bullshit her. 

‘No,’ she said. ‘I take my job very seriously. If it weren’t for this summons, I’d be heading back out to the mountains.’

’My sources say there are no more dragons left,’ the queen said, archly.

Lydia raised an eyebrow, but quickly wiped her expression when she remembered who she was talking to. ‘With respect, your majesty, I have a fresh Goldenclaw talon hanging on my bedroom wall that would disagree.’

Murmurs from the crowd. The queen didn’t even bother to raise a hand to silence them, for they all seemed to realise and pipe down at the same time.

‘The Dragon Guild needs funding,’ the queen stated, and Lydia sensed they were nearing the point. ‘More importantly, it needs to become a proper Guild, and stop these new, eager recruits from getting snapped up due to their inexperience and bravado. You need funds, and staff to teach classes. You need better weapons, and a more comprehensive link with the merchant guilds, to better sell your wares, once they’ve been … acquired.’ Talia grimaced, very slightly. ‘And I know that those professing that the dragon attacks are drying up are ill-informed. Seasons come and go, and some are not yet old enough to remember that dragons fly south to breed.’

‘Yes, your majesty,’ replied Lydia, cautiously. ‘Once every fifteen years.’

‘Your mother knew that.’

Lydia stiffened slightly. ‘She did.’

Talia nodded, watching her thoughtfully. ‘I am prepared to invest in the Dragon Guild’s future. Personally.’

More murmurs from the crowd, and this time Talia did raise a hand.

‘However,’ she added. ‘I need to know just how good their best really is.’

Lydia tensed. Would a demonstration be required? She hadn’t brought any of her weapons. Damn this dress!

‘You may have noticed our guests,’ Talia said, sweeping her hand towards the crowd of unfamiliar faces Lydia had been observing. ‘Lord Argent and his retinue have come from lands far to the south. Following, they tell me, a great beast.’

Lydia was getting very interested now.

‘This dragon has settled in the Red Peaks,’ continued Talia, naming a mountain range about five days ride from Beacon Hills. ‘And his eye is fixed upon us.’

Lydia licked her lips. ‘Majesty, I would ask the source of your information. Directly.’

Talia’s lips quirked, but she raised a hand, allowing it. As Lydia suspected, the tall figure stepped forward, tossing back the cowl. Dark eyes, sharp cheekbones, and black hair tied back from her face. No dragon had ever taken Lydia’s breath away like this girl. 

‘Ms. Martin, you have been hunting dragons for ten years, correct?’ The queen was watching her again.

‘Since I was twelve, yes,’ Lydia replied, caught off guard. ‘Your majesty.’

‘You are of a similar age, then. This is Lady Argent, heir to the Golden throne. She has headed the Dragon Guild in southern Sabelle for nearly as long as you’ve unofficially headed ours. She is to be your liaison for this hunt, and I advise you to use her well. The future of your guild depends on it.’

Lydia barely heard that last. She’d already established about ten seconds in that there was a job to be done, and that she was receiving it directly from the queen, before the court, meant high rewards. None were higher for an aspiring Guild leader than royal patronage. 

Argent’s eyes had not left her the entire time. Lydia had a feeling she’d been watching her ever since she entered the room. She’d heard of a northern dragon, known only as a Rare Blue, that could hypnotize its prey just by staring at it. As the crowd began to disperse around her, and the girl jerked her head at Lydia, she began to wonder whether this was also a human trait. 

 

She stopped wondering about ten minutes later. There was _nothing_ hypnotic about Allison Argent. 

‘ _How_ can you not use a bow?’ she demanded, as they attempted to set up rules for a sparring match in the training yard. The guards had wisely cleared out, and there were some assembled medics fluttering nervously around the wings. Lydia calmly bandaged her hands and tried not to let her fury show.

‘Knives bite deeper,’ she answered. ‘And aren’t thrown off by a stray breeze. I’ve noticed it can get a bit blustery when you’re fighting an agitated dragon with a wingspan of fifty feet.’

A few stray hairs had escaped Allison’s tight ponytail. One was caught in her ridiculously long eyelashes, and she tore it away impatiently. 

‘Not if the arrow is weighted properly,’ she retorted. ‘And drawn by someone of competence.’

‘Any of those around?’ Lydia asked.

‘I thought that’s what you were here for,’ came the swift reply.

There was a beat where they both eyed each other. Lydia had had similar standoffs with agile, land dragons, that could twist around and bite your ankle when you thought you were safe at twenty paces.

‘Lets see then, shall we?’ Lydia allowed her a second, and then swung her staff. It was lucky that Allison was as good as she claimed, otherwise Lydia might have had to flee the scene, and perhaps Beacon Hills.

The sparring match quickly devolved into an all-out battle. Part of Lydia was simply livid. She didn’t need _help_. People needed _her_ help. And she didn’t _care_ that Allison blocked every single attack, countered flawlessly, even spun and ducked and turned old moves into ones Lydia had never seen before. Her body was straight and angular, but she could bend it like she was boneless. Half of Lydia’s faults came from being simply too interested in how Allison was moving instead of how to stop her. 

But she gave as good as she got, and by the time a medic ran on to the field practically begging them to stop, they were both sweating and sporting welts that would certainly turn several interesting shades of purple before this dragon was killed. Between them, it was looking like. Allison was breathing hard, but looked no less determined. 

‘You’re good,’ she allowed. ‘But you need me. You haven’t seen this thing. It thinks like … It thinks like a hunter. Like one of us.’

‘Maybe you’re just not as good as you think you are,’ said Lydia, as primly as she could for someone currently drowning in her own sweat. It was a pointless endeavour; she knew this fight was lost to her. Lydia waved away a medic even though she was fairly certain she’d dislocated a finger. 

Allison’s expression softened, however. She stopped fighting the medic fussing over shoulder, her body going still and straight again. Lydia’s eyes could _not_ stop roaming. 

‘I don’t want to take your guild,’ she assured her. Her tone was still firm - she’d probably be a great ruler, one day - but her eyes were kind. ‘I’m not here as your superior, in any way. I just want to find this thing and stop it killing anyone else, and I specifically asked for someone who could help me do that. Because I can’t do it on my own.’

And finally, Lydia heard something she could work with. For a moment, they looked at each other and recognised something more honest than politics and funding and pride. Allison’s pale face was flushed, but the delicate pink bloomed more deeply as Lydia refused to drop her gaze. 

‘Give me two hours,’ Lydia said, eventually. The medics had become uncomfortable. ‘At the gate leading out of the city.’

Allison smiled, and oh god that was a dimple. ‘I’ll have to borrow a horse. I’ll need mine for travelling home again, and this thing tends to barbecue everything in sight.’

Lydia pursed her lips. ‘We’re walking,’ she said shortly. ‘The Red Peaks are mostly scree and dirt. I hope you’ve got good boots.’ With that, she turned on her heel and got out of there before she did something stupid, like giggle or kiss her. 

 

Twenty minute later, she barged into the Guild. ‘Start drawing up plans,’ she announced. ‘I want an armoury.’

Stiles sat up in his chair so fast he nearly fell out of it. ‘We’re getting funding?’ he squawked, arms flailing in hope. 

Lydia raised her eyebrows and smiled. ‘Yes. One last commission. And funnily enough, the queen felt the need to coerce me with funding, instead of just commanding me. What on earth could have prompted such thoughtfulness?’ She looked pointedly towards the corner where crown prince Hale had his bright-red face buried in a book. The bodyguard at his shoulder was trying very hard not to smile.

‘Date him,’ Lydia instructed Stiles, who was practically vibrating. ‘And give me a title worthy of a queen.’

‘Where are you going?’ he asked, worry touching his voice as he half-rose from his chair.

‘Red Peaks,’ Lydia replied, already on her way out. ‘I’ll be back in two weeks, or I won’t be back at all.’

 

It was a hard road, and a quiet one. Allison wasn’t a talker, or maybe Lydia was giving off waves of hostility that would deter even a crown princess. She didn’t have time to fret about her interpersonal skills but here she was, worried that Allison might think her rude. 

But suitable questions were things like ‘How was the road from Sabelle,’ or ‘I hear the price of grain is going up.’ Or worse, they could talk shop. She could ask about Allison’s bow, or more about the dragon, but Lydia was afraid the lack of interest she felt about both of those things would come off as unprofessional when really, all she wanted to do was ask her what her favourite dessert was and if she preferred sunset or sunrise. 

Lydia caught her boot on a stone and almost stumbled. Classic toothpick behaviour, she snarled internally. 

It was the latter half of the evening by the time they started out, but Lydia didn’t believe in waiting when now was just as good as later. Back in her hunting clothes, she took comfort in the feel of the knives scattered around her person, in her sharp-tipped spear and the familiar weight of her pack. Back on the trail again. Oddly enough, every time she left the city gates felt like the journey home. 

‘For a big city with so many dragon attacks, I find it strange that you didn’t already have a proper Dragon Guild,’ Allison commented idly as they crested the top of a small ridge that overlooked the city. From there, the Red Peaks were the most clearly visible, and Lydia could better gauge their route. The paths changed with the seasonal flooding, and she had not taken this road in a few years. 

‘There wasn’t really time,’ replied Lydia, slightly distracted as her eyes scanned the terrain. ‘It all happened quite quickly, I suppose. My mother commandeered an old brewery for the guildhall and spent the better part of five years being the first and last line of defence until things settled down enough for us to even think about a ranking system or hall of records.’

‘The dragons didn’t come to us until much later,’ Allison commented, shifting her weight easily and tightening a brace on her arm. ‘And a lot of them were your leftovers.’

Lydia snorted. ‘The palace guards didn’t know a damn thing about how to kill a dragon. My mother tried to tell them about under the arm and the base of the neck, but somehow hacking away at the legs and wings seemed a far better idea. We didn’t get a kill until they finally let her just do it herself.’

It was only then that Lydia realised she was talking a whole lot about her mother, and braced herself for the totally reasonable questions that would have to follow. 

But surprisingly, Allison changed tack. ‘You fight like you’ve had to earn your right to lead the Guild,’ she said. Lydia could feel her gaze. ‘I hope you can kill with the same enthusiasm.’

Lydia nodded jerkily, then started off down the path in something of a daze. 

 

Twice, they were woken by brigands in the night. The second fight lasted marginally longer than the first, and only because Lydia’s favourite knife had been kicked out of her hand while she’d been sleeping. She couldn’t react immediately because there’d been a boot pressed to her windpipe, but it took her all of about ten seconds to knock him off balance and smash his nose into his brain. That left her weaponless and scowling as Allison put an arrow through the back of the last man’s head. 

‘Three to one,’ she quipped, putting away her bow and smiling shyly at Lydia. ‘I think your knife is over there.’

Lydia stomped over to retrieve it, thoughts of Allison’s beautiful body stretched as taught as her bow filling her mind without any permission whatsoever.

She wasn’t sure when her impression of Allison had changed from admirable to beautiful, but it had done so in innumerably sly ways. Bending over at the creek to collect water, Lydia found herself tracing the line of her neck with her mind, wondering what it felt like to cup that smooth skin. Would Allison be naturally warm or cool? Were those archer’s fingers callused, like she supposed? Lydia wanted to stroke her hair and kiss her neck. This dragon was going to eat her for lunch.

The further they travelled, the hotter the ground became. Soon they were sleeping with their clothes on, curling up on whatever rock they could find that wasn’t singed or outright smouldering. Lydia had dismissed the necessity of Allison’s knowledge of the beast, but now she was wondering just exactly what kind of a creature it was.

‘It ate half of our retinue and guards on the way down,’ Allison confessed, three nights in. She was skinning a rabbit and the flames of the fire cast her face in the most gorgeous light that Lydia was finding it difficult to space out her long periods of staring at her with equal periods of actually preparing their dinner. 

‘Stiles mentioned they’ve had to double the guard at the palace,’ Lydia murmured. ‘And you’d never seen anything that big before?’

Allison shook her head. ‘Nothing,’ she replied fervently, and there was a definite touch of excitement in her voice now. ‘It’s like it knows where we’ll be. I mean, dragons can’t smell for shit but this one is either a mutation or it knows something we don’t. There was no hiding from it.’

Lydia frowned. ‘So if you were an easy meal, why didn’t it just kill you all?’

Allison fiddled with the skinning knife, reminding Lydia that she’d yet to actually bring the water to a boil. She hurriedly lowered it over the flames as Allison gathered her thoughts. 

‘I got very close to it, one time,’ she said slowly. ‘I looked it right in the eye. It was bigger than my head, and I thought I’d had it. But it just blinked at me. Just blinked. I felt like I was watching a knife being tossed into the air.’ She bit her lip. ‘I was so damn scared.’

Lydia had a death grip on the pot. Silence hung over their little camp, broken only by the crackling flames. 

‘And then it just … looked away.’ Allison shrugged. ‘Snapped up a few more soldiers and took off. Like it wasn’t bothered with me. I looked into its eye, and I saw an intelligence greater than my own.’ She looked up at Lydia, who couldn’t have even said what her own expression was like. 

’It likes killing,’ she said, voice low. ‘It’s not hunting, and it doesn’t have eggs. It’s killing us because it can. Because it likes to. And it’s smart enough to figure out exactly the best way to do that.’

The fire may as well not have been there, for all the heat it was providing. Lydia set the pot down gently on the coals and rubbed her arms. 

‘We’ll just have to be smarter,’ she said simply. It had sounded better in her head. Allison returned to skinning, and Lydia resisted the urge to set herself alight. 

More than a few walls had crumbled down between them over the last few days, but Allison’s tale of the dragon seemed to have chilled her slightly. She was guarded throughout dinner, unwilling to participate in their usual weapons banter (bickering, really) or in any more neutral topic that Lydia tried introducing. Murmurs and brief replies turned into curt grunts and eyebrow raises. By the time the embers were burning low, Lydia was thoroughly fed up. The tension crackled like burnt wood. 

‘We should set a watch, this close to the mountain,’ Lydia suggested, as they unrolled their bedding. The rock they were camped on was not likely to catch fire, but she still scanned the ground for any stray weeds or grass that might cause them problems. 

‘Fine,’ Allison agreed, removing her bow from its fireproof casing. Lydia frowned.

‘I wasn’t suggesting you had to go first,’ she added, irked.

‘It’s fine,’ Allison repeated, tone indicating that it was anything _but_ fine. The intelligent half of Lydia’s brain knew that this was absolutely not about the watch, that Allison was upset for another reason, and that pushing the point would almost literally be poking a sleeping dragon in the eye (that phrase didn’t come from nowhere), but she was tired and sore and overheated. She didn’t feel like being intelligent. 

‘Allison, your head’s not in it,’ she said, not _quite_ snapping. ‘Take some rest. I’ll wake you in a few hours.’

Allison rounded on her. ‘You do _not_ command me,’ she growled. ‘You’re the civilian. You’re here at my invitation.’

Lydia rose to that particular challenge like she’d been waiting to do ever since they’d first eyed each other in the throne room. 

‘You wouldn’t even know how to get to the Red Peak if not for me!’ she hissed, stalking across their little camp to square up. ‘This is my territory. My land!’

‘Any village boy could have led me here,’ sneered Allison, looking down at her (Lydia cursed those extra inches to hell and back). ‘I hardly need your little knives to help me fell a dragon.’

‘Oh yes, I forgot, you’re planning to take down a five thousand pound dragon with your little flying twigs.’ Lydia’s voice dripped acid. She could feel the heat off Allison’s body, and she clenched her fists. ‘Well, that’s fine. But I’ll wager you a lovely dragon skull-carved spear that you can’t get to its heart before I can.’

‘The prize is _mine_ ,’ Allison snarled, stepping closer. 

‘You’d better come and take it from me then,’ Lydia whispered, taking her own step forward. Suddenly there was a lot more contact than there’d been previously, and Lydia didn’t know whether she wanted to slap her away or pull her closer. 

In her first real stroke of luck of the evening, Allison made that decision for her. She lunged at Lydia, who, in a moment of horror thought Allison was going to pull her hair, made a startled _mmph_ sound as Allison’s mouth closed on hers. The hand Lydia had thought had been going for her hair instead clasped the back of her head, pulling her closer, and Lydia’s arms snaked around Allison’s slim form of their own accord because oh gods, this was so wildly inappropriate she was almost dizzy. 

Allison was burning. Her skin, her touch, was fire. Lydia pressed their bodies together and could feel the electricity in every scrap of contact. Their hands were insistent, grabby, and began pulling at clothes almost immediately. Lydia was so _pissed off_ , and felt that this could absolutely be cured by making Allison shriek. She grabbed her ass, squeezing roughly, and shivered with delight as Allison made a noise of arousal against her mouth. 

‘You are so _irritating_ ,’ Allison hissed. Lydia bit her lower lip, tugging, until Allison whined. She nipped, drawing blood and then drew back to glare. 

‘You’re too tall,’ she replied. Allison’s eyes glinted.

Suddenly Lydia’s legs were out from under her, but instead of slamming into the hot ground like she expected, Allison had her arms wrapped securely around her. Mortified at the small shriek she’d let out, Lydia opened her mouth to curse but found only Allison’s tongue, pushing past her lips and entirely ruining whatever Lydia had been about to say. Which, Lydia felt, was probably for the best. 

Allison lowered her to the ground and followed her down until their bodies were entwined, legs rubbing together to heel off their boots, fingernails scraping soft skin until more was exposed. It felt almost like their first fight, but this one Lydia was happy to lose. 

‘You wear too many layers,’ snapped Allison, ripping at Lydia’s shirt. 

‘You don’t wear enough,’ Lydia fired back, slipping her hand up under Allison’s own thin garment, arching her back with pleasure when she found her breast. She squeezed, thumb rubbing her nipple gently, and Allison’s mouth drifted open as her movements stilled.

‘But that’s not a complaint,’ Lydia murmured in her ear. She wrapped her legs around Allison’s waist, not caring that she was supporting nearly all of her weight, back pressed into the ground. ‘You like that, don’t you?’

Allison exhaled sharply as Lydia squeezed again. The world around them went utterly silent as they explored each other’s bodies, pulling roughly at clothing when it blocked the way to more skin, more parts to touch. Allison’s mouth bit and sucked, making Lydia gasp and moan and cry out like she had not an ounce of pride. She didn’t care. She would take everything she could get from this woman. 

When Allison’s mouth found her clit Lydia almost leapt right off the ground. She grabbed a fistful of hair and tugged, writhing, as Allison’s tongue gently pressed against her hood, massaging in a way she had to know was torture. Strong hands held her down, and Lydia felt her body try to buck the submission. 

But Allison’s mouth was magic. Fingers worked their way inside of her, scissoring, opening her up and drawing out wrecked moans from between her swollen lips, noises Lydia never even knew she could make. Allison wielded her as easily as she did her bow, making her bend all the right ways with just a few sure touches. 

The ground beneath them was getting hotter. Lydia could feel her orgasm building inside her, but she couldn’t remember how to let Allison know. Words were failing her in a big way as Allison tongue fucked her, fingers lighting up hot trails all over her legs and belly as she used up all of her frustrated energy on thoroughly wrecking Lydia. She shrieked when she came, but couldn’t even imagine a world where she’d care because Allison was still down there, licking up every drop of Lydia’s come. Shivers wracked her body even though the ground had gotten even more unbearably hot. Too hot. 

‘It’s too hot,’ she moaned, weakly. She felt like a fish trying to flop back to life. ‘That was - oh god that was so hot, but I’m - ouch.’

‘Yeah,’ Allison muttered. ‘I think we’d better - ’

Dragons have an impeccable sense of timing. 

It roared down upon them, flattening them to the ground with a massive buffet of wind from its wings. Fire roared, and for a moment Lydia was sure she’d been engulfed and these were the last few seconds before her agony. 

Instead, the roar was cut off by a furious shriek, more anger than pain, but definitely pain related. She fumbled for her dagger - which was in her clothes, and _where_ were they - already trying to scramble to her feet. 

And as soon as it had come, it was gone, soaring off into the night with a loud, indignant screech, the twang of arrows following it. Lydia was conscious enough to recognise a Needler’s shriek when she heard one, and she took a moment to regret everything she’d ever said about Allison’s arrows before catching sight of her bow, lying at least ten paces away and nowhere near Allison, who was shivering beside her.

They looked at each other, too startled to be embarrassed, until they began to check out where the arrows had come from. Lydia had felt one whiz over her from the right, so that’s where her gaze went first. 

The young woman who standing on top of the narrow outcrop of rock didn’t look too impressed with them.

‘I think your clothes got burned,’ she commented unnecessarily. Her mass of fair hair billowed around her in the aftermath of the dragon. ‘I’d offer to turn around, but I kind of feel that would be redundant.’

 

Her name was Malia, and if clothing - made almost solely out of hides - and bone dagger hadn’t been enough to tip Lydia off, five minutes of semi-mortified conversation did the job. 

‘You’re a protector,’ she commented, not feeling bold enough to sound as derisive as she felt, but she eyed Malia carefully. 

‘A what?’ Allison was looking at Malia curiously, the blush finally fading from her cheeks. It was the middle of the night, but no one felt much like sleeping. 

‘They live among the dragons,’ Lydia explained. ‘Try to understand them, or something.’

Malia didn’t seem perturbed by Lydia’s clear discomfort with the subject. 

‘But you know they kill people, right?’ Allison’s eyebrows drew together.

Malia shrugged. ‘I know that. I also know that many dragons take off after their first encounter with humans and don’t land again for days. I’ve tracked them. You wouldn’t know it, but you’ve probably never encountered the same dragon twice.’

‘What’s your point.’ Lydia was feeling testy. 

Malia rolled her eyes. She seemed totally relaxed. ‘You’ve scared off so many dragons that you’ve been forcing them all south. And then the southerners force them back north. And sooner or later, you’re both going to get a pretty strong backlash.’

‘We’re prepared for that,’ Allison explained. She still seemed intrigued by Malia. ‘But we’re hunting a kind of rogue. He’s not a breeder or a hunter, he just kills whatever he can find.’

Malia tossed her bone knife in the air and caught it. ‘I know that,’ she replied, as though they were idiots. ‘I’ve been following you for two days.’

Lydia sat up straight, indignant. ‘Excuse me? Two days?’

Malia rolled her head around to fix her with an amused stare. ‘Yes, two days. You’re not untrackable. I would have thought tonight kind of proved that.’

Lydia flushed, but Allison quickly stepped in.

‘I think she meant to ask why you were tracking us,’ she asked, gaze flickering between the pair of them. She still looked interested. 

Malia finally gave Allison her full attention. Clearly Allison’s bow didn’t impress her as much as Lydia’s knives. 

‘Because he’s been following you too,’ Malia said simply. Lydia didn’t need to ask who she meant. Despite the hot rock beneath them - cooling slightly, now that the Needler had flown away - Lydia felt cold at her words. 

 

Malia was still there when they woke up the next morning, wrapped in her hides and fur. Lydia had to admit that she looked like part of the forest. Lydia could move through the terrain with ease, but Malia looked like she was a part of it. 

‘I hope you’re not planning on stopping us from killing this thing,’ Lydia warned her, as they packed up camp. Allison paused in the act of rolling up her bed roll, watching. 

Malia was slicing an apple with her knife. She shrugged, popping a piece into her mouth and crunching noisily. 

‘Not my business,’ she mumbled around a mouthful of fruit. ‘Do what you gotta do.’

‘So why are you tracking it?’ asked Allison softly. 

Malia sighed. She looked at them both critically. 

‘You know, dragons are animals too,’ she said. ‘They have habits and behaviours. If you stopped to look for, like, five seconds, you might understand them a bit better.’

‘They’re dangerous to us,’ Lydia argued, but Malia waved her down.

‘I know that, I know. They were. And some still are. But they’re evolving.’ A light grew in her eyes as she spoke. ‘My family have watched them for years. We observe, we live quietly among them, and we record their patterns. And they’re changing.’ She crouched down, clutching the remains of her apple in her hands. ‘Have you ever seen a dragon nest?’

Allison shook her head slowly. They looked at Lydia, who shrugged. ‘Only the ashes of one. Why?’

‘Dragons are mostly solitary, but they congregate in matriarchal family groups to breed, or when threatened. Most of the nests we’ve found have been burned out too, but once I came across one with a young Nightclaw hiding in the back. He had me cornered - I thought I was screwed - but he backed off, let me leave. He wasn’t there to attack me, even though he must have been hungry.’ Malia shrugged again, picking at her apple thoughtfully. ‘He was waiting. Waiting for someone to come and find him.’

Lydia didn’t know where she was going with all this, but Allison’s rapt attention made her keep silent. For now. 

‘What did you do?’

Malia looked at Allison. ‘I left him there. Never saw him again. It was the first time a dragon hadn’t been aggressive towards me at first sight.’

‘Was it weak? Sick? Injured?’ Lydia demanded, sure there must be an explanation.

But Malia shook her head. ‘It was fine,’ she said simply. ‘It just let me go.’

It was similar to how Allison had described the rogue dragon. Their eyes met across the burned out remains of the campfire, and Lydia knew Allison was thinking the same thing.

‘So, evolving … but maybe not all in the same way.’ Lydia was thoughtful. ‘Alright, I’ll buy that. But that still doesn’t explain why you’re tracking this thing.’

‘I’m not, specifically,’ Malia explained. ‘But he’s been camping out in a nest that’s only recently vacated. There’s a good chance there’ll be some abandoned dragon eggs in there. I want to get them out of there, move them to another nest, since he’ll probably burn the place down if he hasn’t smashed it already.’

Lydia frowned. ‘That’s a big risk to take for a few dragon eggs.’

Malia shrugged. ‘Nothing better to be doing,’ she answered, standing up. ‘We moving or what?’

‘If she gets in my way, I’ll knock her down,’ Lydia whispered to Allison as they made to leave.

Allison eyed her, a sparkle in her eye. ‘Oh, will you?’ she murmured, hand straying to Lydia’s hip. Lydia squirmed away, but couldn’t deny she was looking forward to more of that in the future. If they had a future.

The Red Peaks were smoking ominously as they approached. One more day should put them right at the foothills.

Lydia and Allison trained vigorously when they broke for their evening meal, mostly because Malia spent most of the day ranging ahead, out of earshot mostly, but coming back at the worst moments, like when Allison had Lydia up against a tree, hands sliding down the front of her pants, or when Lydia undid Allison’s shirt so she could suck and lick her nipple as Allison struggled not to cry out. It never stopped being embarrassing when she found them trying to fuck like animals, but not quite embarrassing enough for them to not give it a go every time she disappeared. 

‘You’re making me dizzy with all that spinning,’ Malia yawned, lying against a rock. ‘Quit it.’

Lydia would have been more than happy to quit it - Allison was beating her tonight - but she was afraid that if she didn’t tire herself out, nothing would stop her from dragging Allison into a bush and marking her up so badly she’d look injured. 

‘Five more minutes,’ she insisted, panting.

Malia sighed loudly. ‘I should have just left you to it today,’ she grumbled. 

Lydia flushed, but kept her expression neutral. ‘That’s none of your business,’ she said primly. 

There was something about the way Malia was eyeing her up - both of them - that made Lydia feel like a mouse beneath the gaze of a hawk. Only hotter. 

The silence stretched out significantly, until finally Allison kicked a stone over and said ‘Guess you’ve got the first watch, Lydia.’

Lydia watched incredulously as she stalked over to her pack and unfurled her bedroll, dropping down on to it without another word and rolling over so her back was to the fire, and Lydia. 

Malia just shrugged and slid down until she too was horizontal, leaving Lydia staring at the fire and wondering what had just happened. 

 

To Lydia’s dismay, Malia hung back with them constantly the next day. This meant that not only did Lydia have to deal with resisting the urge to jump Allison, but also Allison’s tendency to look at Malia’s ass whenever she walked ahead. They were hunting dragons, for heaven’s sake, Lydia grumbled to herself. It was serious business.

This was why Lydia preferred to work alone. She didn’t _do_ distractions, but apparently her distractions would like to do her, and each other. 

That night, Allison and Lydia nearly battered each other to death, and when they finally rolled apart, red-faced and panting, Malia had had enough.

‘Oh just come here,’ she snapped. Lydia, too tired to argue, dropped down beside Malia, wondering what was up, wondering if she’d be able to stand again. Standing, however, was not what Malia had in mind.

‘Hey, that’s my job,’ Allison said, sounding _very_ interested.

Malia pulled Lydia in by her waist and started nuzzling her neck, soft kisses that got her attention immediately. Her hands went to Malia’s hair, soft and thick in her hands, and she sighed as Malia bent her head to her collarbone, then down to her breasts. 

It didn’t take long for Allison to give up the spectator role. Lydia felt her hands on her shoulders as she settled down behind them, pulling her hair to one side so she could kiss the other side of her neck. Malia’s hands were moving down again, brushing against Lydia’s crotch through her pants. She shifted, already very aroused, but conscious of the last time they tried something like this at night.

Malia sensed her agitation and looked up, smiling slightly. 

‘Don’t worry,’ she said softly. ‘I’ve got good reflexes.’

Allison’s hands were suddenly on her shoulders, her body pressed up against her, still warm from their fight. Pressed between their bodies, Lydia let them pry her open, teasing her legs apart and sliding hands and fingers over her skin, marking her and claiming her with mouths and teeth and tongue until her whole body burned with need. 

Finally, Allison’s mouth found hers. She was bent over Lydia as Malia tongued her clit, and her lips were bitten and red and soft on hers. Lydia felt a rush of emotion that had nothing to do with the sex and more to do with the piercings eyes currently pinning her to the ground more effectively than physical restraints. 

‘Hi,’ Allison breathed against her. 

Lydia could only whimper in response, but nosed at Allison for more kisses. When Allison complied, Lydia felt like she could kill any number of dragons with this girl cheering her on.

Then Malia’s mouth did something so fantastic that Lydia nearly bit Allison’s tongue off. What would it be like, she wondered dizzily, to have these two waiting for her at home every day? Having her back on hunts? Would it be worth the near-death experiences when they couldn’t keep their hands off each other on the job?

Determined to do her part, Lydia arched up and grabbed Allison back down again for another kiss. She pulled at her lip with her teeth until Allison moaned, fingers digging into Lydia’s hip and shoulder. Then she gasped into Lydia’s mouth as Malia’s other hand made itself useful.

‘Some view back here,’ she commented, though she at least sounded mildly strained. 

‘She’s so full of it,’ Allison murmured into Lydia mouth, then yelped as a sharp smack echoed around the clearing.

‘What was that?’ Malia asked, fingers scissoring brutally inside Lydia. Lydia gasped and clung to Allison’s shoulders as adelicious spike of pleasure made her limbs tremble. Allison’s hands stroked her body, but her eyes were steel. Malia’s hands continued to wreak havoc on Lydia until she shuddered and cried into Allison’s neck as she orgasmed. Her whole body was on fire; there were too many hands touching her, stroking her, pulling cries of pleasure from between her bitten lips. 

As the fire cooled in her own body, Lydia saw it flame in Allison’s eyes. She rounded on Malia, who was, in a careless display of debauchery, licking her fingers clean. Lydia had just about managed to catch her breath when Allison suddenly disappeared from view. A loud thump and a squeal was followed by a surprised gasp of pleasure, and when Lydia finally managed to sit up, she was treated to the sight of Allison wrapped around Malia, who was struggling to get up on to all fours, but finding it difficult with Allison’s breasts pressed against her back, one hand sliding between her legs and the other tipping her chin back so Allison could kiss her neck.

For a while, Lydia could only watch. Malia’s head was bowed, her forehead resting on her wrists, forearms pressed to her bedroll, ass in the air, strong thighs shaking. Lydia watched her whole body shudder as Allison slid two fingers inside her, fucking her slowly as her other hand kept Malia’s head pressed down. Sweat glistened on their bodies in the low firelight, and Lydia was hypnotised as they moved together. Allison’s mouth was slightly agape as she struggled to hold herself back - Lydia could tell from the taught muscles in her arms, the tremble in her legs. As Malia cursed and whined, Lydia knew Allison longed to give it to her. But holding out, making Malia beg for it, that was just so much sweeter. 

‘You think you can just have her?’ Allison murmured, lips grazing Malia’s shoulder. ‘You think I’d just lie there and let you taste her without tasting you too?’ She kissed a delicate trail down the length of Malia’s spine, finally wetting her lips between her legs, and Malia’s cry of delight surely alerted every dragon within one hundred miles to the presence of three very horny would-be slayers, currently begging to be eaten.

Oddly, Lydia couldn’t feel too worried about that right now. Malia was right on the edge and Lydia hadn’t gotten to touch _anyone_ yet. 

She crawled over to them, still feeling fairly legless from their earlier attentions. She bent over Malia, tipping her head up and sliding a finger between her lips. Malia sucked it as best she could with Allison’s face between her legs, dragging enthusiastic noises of pleasure from her every other moment. Lydia cradled her face gently before fisting a hand in her hair and pushing another finger between her lips. Kneeling at her head, she held Malia in a firm grip and fucked her mouth slowly. Allison glanced up, face flushed, and saw what Lydia was doing. Eyes alight, she leaned over Malia for a kiss. It was mostly a lot of teeth, but it made Allison positively purr. 

She sat back and with a flick of her hand made Malia’s whole body spasm, her fingers scraping the bedroll. She couldn’t speak because of Lydia’s fingers in her mouth, and now Allison was adding three more between Malia’s legs, her arm straining as she increased her earlier steady pace. 

Lydia’s mouth went slack as she watched Allison bend over Malia slightly, fucking her roughly with her hand. Now that Lydia was holding Malia’s head down, Allison removed hers from Malia’s neck and slipped it between her own legs. Her teeth caught her lip as she touched herself. Beneath them, Malia arched her back and almost collapsed sideways as her orgasm overtook her, and Lydia took her fingers out so she could breathe through it. Allison’s whole body clenched too, and Lydia scrambled get behind Allison and add her own fingers before she too was coming, head thrown back on to Lydia’s shoulder as she stiffened, perfect mouth open in a wordless cry. 

They collapsed on to the bedroll, Lydia wrapping her arms around Allison, who was still breathing hard and pulsing around Lydia’s fingers. Lydia started to shiver, but not for long. She felt the rough material of her blanket sliding over her skin, and then Malia’s strong arms were wrapping around her waist, lips pressing against her shoulder. Together they waited until Allison had come down fully before snuggling down to sleep. Lydia couldn’t believe she felt safe enough to do that when the ground was so hot, but tucked between Allison and Malia, she really did. 

 

Morning dawned to find the three of them tangled together under the blanket, naked limbs entwined in a confusing jumble that Lydia never wanted to leave. But a roar from the mountain nearly shook the bones from her body, and quickly banished that notion.

‘When this is over, I’m going to pin the both of you down until _you’re_ the ones screaming yourselves hoarse,’ croaked Lydia. Malia and Allison grinned at each other. 

‘I mean it,’ she insisted, standing up straight and raising her chin. ‘Just because you’re taller than me does not mean -’

‘You love it,’ interrupted Malia. ‘I mean, so did I. And I cannot wait to get my hands on you again, so maybe I’ll let you return the favour. If we’re feeling generous.’

Lydia had never liked being outnumbered. But watching Allison and Malia lick their lips at her might just induce her to let them bend her to their will a few more times. 

 

The dragon, predictably, was a nightmare. Lydia lost half her hair, and nearly a foot. It nearly brought the whole mountain down around them, anticipating their every move as though it knew how they thought, just like Allison had said. For a while, Lydia feared it would take off and they’d have to go on the hunt again, risking driving it into more populated areas. But Malia burned a strange bundle of herbs that made Lydia’s eyes water, and - fortunately - the dragon’s too. Allison shot arrows right through the central nerve bundle in its wings, rendering it flightless. It got trapped between a ridge and a cliff, and Lydia was able to dart underneath, boost off Malia’s back, and fling her knife straight into the soft spot under its armour, right into the heart. 

But the beast, contrary to the end, hurtled off the cliff rather than give up its body. The crash nearly shook the teeth from Lydia’s head, and for a long time they cowered against the cliff face, red dust coating their bodies and hot ash beginning to fall from the sky. Their limbs were singed and burned, skin turning pink and tender in places from being dashed against the hot rocks, but they were alive. 

‘My knife’s gone,’ said Lydia softly, as they leaned over the cliff. The dust had yet to settle down there, but they could make out the dragon’s huge limbs.

’No trophies to confirm, either,’ remarked Allison. 

‘I think the fact that your city won’t burn to the ground is trophy enough,’ Malia frowned. 

‘It’s not my city,’ said Allison automatically. Lydia looked at her, and a few things started to click into place. 

‘No, but it is mine,’ she said quietly. She had a guild to run, now. 

Malia wasn’t caught up, and she looked eager to examine the nest now that the fires were dying down. ‘Well, do you have to go back right away?’ she asked, exasperated, before scrambling over a pile of rocks to where something was glinting in the corner. 

‘I suppose not,’ replied Lydia, but the answer was for Allison only. ‘You know, I have a very good assistant. Stiles, I might have mentioned him.’

‘Oh yeah, the one lusting after the crown prince? He’s all I heard about while I was in the palace.’ Allison was beaming at her, dimple flashing. ‘He seems fairly competent.’

‘He is,’ Lydia agreed, sliding her arms around Allison’s waist and tugging her closer. ‘And I think it’ll be good for them to see how they get on without me for a while. I mean, I can’t always be there to do everything for them. There are more important things in life than killing dragons. Like kissing dragon slayers.’ Her lips found Allison’s, soft and warm and feeling very much like home. 

‘Hey, I found an egg!’ Malia’s voice was the most excited Lydia had ever heard it, and that included when Allison had fingered her until she came twice. 

‘And I suppose, kissing dragon protectors too,’ added Lydia wryly as they turned to look at Malia, who was crouching beside a large green boulder-looking thing. 

‘Also very important,’ agreed Allison. ‘I think I’d like to extend my holiday from Sabelle.’

‘Anyone up for a trip to the eastern mountains?’ Malia was hefting the dragon egg now, looking positively delighted. ‘Last I heard there was a nest there that was particularly amenable to anyone returning orphaned dragon eggs to them. This could be the start of some kind of alliance.’ Her eyebrows shot up. ‘Oh man, do you think one of them would let me hitch a ride?’

Allison laughed, and Lydia hugged her closer; partly in an oh-god-we-almost-died way, partly just to feel Allison warm and alive and standing with her. 

‘I think a holiday is just what I need,’ agreed Lydia, smiling. 

**Author's Note:**

> s/o to the aforementioned pests [Autumn](http://autumnsedai.tumblr.com/) and [Alfie](http://unfortunatelyderek.tumblr.com/)
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://thetrojeans.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](http://twitter.com/lazarusthefirst/)


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